Heritage 'The Seraph Chronicles Vol I & II'
by Archmage Zen
Summary: Seraph Majere, now a Red Robe, leaves with Asylthas in pursuit of his uncle. Raistlin, on the other hand, forsakes the gods, and they to him. In order to acquire pure godhood, Raistlin follows his ambition down the path of the Seven Prophecies.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Dragonlance: Heritage, The Seraph Chronicles Vol.I  
  
Prologue: The Greatest Wizard Who Ever Lived.  
  
Three hours passed amongst the mortal dwellers, years among the dusty plains of the Abyss, home of Takhisis, meeting place of the God's Council. Two golden eyes stared transfixed upon the world of Krynn, prized possession of the Gods. Along with those eerie golden eyes, hourglass pupils adorned them. Completely uninterested in the council of the Gods before him, Raistlin Majere continued to watch inanimately as the sands of time continued to decay and pry at his great nephew's young soul.  
Once considered the youngest and most extraordinary of all novice mages to ever take the dreaded Test, Raistlin was forced to stand idly by as his great nephew, Seraph Majere entered the Forest of Wayreth, alone. Desperately he tried to council his great nephew, but his mind was blocked by the presence and influence of the Gods amongst him, and for the time being, his magic would fail him. For eternity is seemed he had fought and struggled to gain his own seat among the old Gods of Krynn, but looking back on it all, he truly wondered if he had made the right decision.  
"Of course I made the right decision" thought Raistlin, "why do I doubt myself like this? Nonsense, all of it is worry, nothing to get bent out of shape for." Finally moving his gaze from Krynn, he shifted in his seat toward Paladine. In almost doubtful hope, Raistlin tried to pry him from the Council in order to grant a single desire. "Paladine, great God of good, find in your caring heart to grant me one desire," pleaded Raistlin.  
To his bewilderment and amazement, Paladine in turn responded, "What is it that you ask of me?" Mentally Raistlin replied slyly, "Paladine, or should I start calling you Fizban? But that is besides my point, as you know my great nephew has entered the Forest of Wayreth...I humbly ask that I guide him through his Test, help him if needed, heal him if wounded, and give advice when he is filled with doubt."  
Quickly, without any signs of warning or thought, Paladine abruptly ended the conversation with an outburst that halted all progress made by the Council. "You, Raistlin Majere, may be the only mage ever to have donned the Gold Robes, but I shall not grant your request," Paladine's eyes flared with the same intensity as Raistlin's. But the powerful archmage was unaffected by the God's glaring look.  
"Must I remind you, Old One" Raistlin replied with a slight sneer, "I have saved your life on more than one occasion. But heed this Paladine, I shall not watch as my great nephew is tortured as I was, and even at a younger age!" Raistlin's defiance left the other God's including Paladine himself stunned, none could object to his remark.  
Once Paladine himself regained control of his voice, there was no mistaking the tone of anger and malice in his voice. Even a loving and good God has his negative sides. With an anger few have seen, Paladine had only this to say, "Indeed you are a very determined man, Majere, but must I remind you of your place in this world? You have earned the right to sit amongst the Gods, and the power of all the magic in the world. But remember this well Majere, you are a Demi-God, no more, no less, you are not the higher authority and I seem to have superior seniority."  
The mighty Archmage, adorned with the Golden robes of the God's, could only smile slyly at Paladine. Not even his omniscient eyes or mind would ever be able to pierce Raistlin's thoughts. Those tormented eyes would never allow it, or the gaze behind them. Drawing upon Paladine's greatest weakness, Raistlin Majere summoned a single soul amongst them all. "Well Fizban," Raistlin stated bleakly, "what would Tas have to say about all this? Let's find out... Burrfoot!" snapped Raistlin as the ghostly image of the adventurous kender appeared.  
Paladine, with all his might, could prevent Raistlin from having his "way", but he could never say "no" to the adventurous kender he considered a "close friend". 


	2. Defiance

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Chapter One: Defiance  
  
A small apparition about half a full grown man's height, piped obnoxiously at Raistlin. This was a common habit for the poor kender, and a habit Raistlin had little patience for, especially now. "Oh hello Raistlin," squeaked Tas, "did you die? I thought I was dead once, especially after the Cataclysm when I found the Abyss. Don't you remember that, huh, don't suppose you remember?"  
"Be silent kender!" Raistlin shouted. That was another habit of Tasslehoff's; one Raistlin had no tolerance for, ever. "Yes, I am dead," he remarked with a depressed sigh, "but through my death I have immortality and all the magic of the world at my disposal!" Raistlin fell to his knees before the kender, twitching and coughing from a torturous spasm. Ever since his last trip back to Krynn when his nephew Palin Majere opened the Abyss, Raistlin's cursed cough continued to afflict his breathing.  
Used to seeing Raistlin in such poor conditions, Tas tried to help him to his feet once the spasm calmed. "Easy Raist," Tas comforted, "let me help you." Recognizing the kender's quick-nimble hands upon him, Raistlin took an uneasy leap backward. Patting around his glorious gold robes, checking if all his spell components were in place, Raistlin's fury was upon the kender. "Never touch me!" Raistlin shrieked, "And do not call me Raist, only Caramon ever called me that."  
Half-knowing what he said, the apparition of his twin brother came at his call. Cursing himself beneath his breath, Raistlin turned to face his twin. "You called Raist?" a tone of worry was in Caramon's voice, "do you need your tea, a warm blanket?" Realizing what he had just said, Caramon too cursed himself beneath his muffled breath. "What is it, brother?" "I did not summon you!" Raistlin croaked as another spasm contorted his frail body. "Leave...be gone...I need no help from you..."  
Not wanting to see his dear friend go, Tas quickly grasped caramon's muscled arm. "No, don't leave Caramon!" Tas squealed, "He's angry at me now, he'll turn me into a rat!" "No he won't Tas, don't worry it's me he's mad at, not you." Caramon reassured the kender. "You don't know that! But I was once a mouse; do you remember Caramon, huh, do you? I guess not, I'll remind you. We were in the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest; Par-Salian had been casting the time-traveling magic thingy. I prayed to Fizban, oh hello Fizban how have you been lately?" Before Paladine himself could answer the kender had found his place and was continuing the story.  
"I put on this ring, no don't look at me like that! I explained that already, I 'found' the ring just lying on the floor of someone's room, honest!" Tas declared with the up most innocence. "I put it on after praying to Fizban and was turned into a mouse..." Tas was interrupted by Raistlin yelled something at him again, he wasn't sure what. It was a known fact kender are thieves, though they don't know it, and have very selective hearing. "By the Gods among us," Raistlin was furious, "shut you insolent blabbering!"  
"I better go before Raistlin becomes even madder." Caramon replied as he walked off toward the horizon of the Abyss. Once Caramon had left, Paladine was the one to break the eerie silence. "Hello Tas and yes I've been quite well lately. Now," Paladine shifted his gaze from the kender to the silent archmagus," what is it you truly plan on doing with this kender?" Raistlin did not answer; he merely left the silence to reply for him. "Very well," Paladine replied, "then we will see how you fare against us Majere! Until you beat us, you shall not enter the world of Krynn again!"  
Without even taking up any spell components, Raistlin began to chant one of his own magical spells. Being armed with all the magic was proving to be his greatest advantage against the Gods. "Ast nos shirak eni dulak es rah oeh vucous!" Raistlin chanted as the ecstasy of the magic burned within his blood. Dark clouds and torrential winds shattered the desolate land of the Abyss. The gusts whipped around his golden robes, fire sparked from his eyes and lightning streaked from his fingertips.  
Catastrophic quakes ravaged the Abyss, sulfur rained down from the sky. The power of Raistlin's magic surpassed all others, his ambition turned to heat that scorched the deserted lands, the gods themselves were afraid. Maelstroms of magic swirled around the archmagus, concentrating the magic of the final blast. A sphere of massive proportions, full of fire, ice, and lightning magic formed in the mage's palms. Paladine knelt before the archmage, as did the other Gods. The end was upon them, not even Chaos, Father of All and Nothing could have stopped Raistlin at his peak.  
Finishing the spell, Raistlin had to only chant the final spidery words of magic. "Siahh ens dastuos..." Just as Raistlin aimed the magic at the cowering Gods, the worst spasm came over him. Forced to his knees, the magic dissipated, died out. The Abyss returned to its normal devastation, the shameful figures of the Gods stood up. Together they stood around the archmagus, still spilling blood upon his lips and coughing to exhaustion. No mage would ever be as strong as Raistlin Majere, or as weak. By this the Gods vowed, through his ambitious determination, he was worthy of praise.  
"Archmagus Majere, "Paladine called out, "you may return to Krynn..." 


	3. The Creeping Forest

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Chapter Two: The Creeping Forest  
  
"Hurry up elf!" shouted a white robed mage, "we must reach our destination by sundown." The elf, drudging farther behind, was forced to run in order to catch up to the light-footed mage. "Tell me something sir mage?" the young elf questioned, "Why didn't you ask my name?" The mage's voice was as sly as his great uncle's.  
"If you manage to accompany through the Forest of Wayreth," his tone was grim, "then perhaps I'll ask you of your name." Continuing toward his goal, Seraph Majere barely paid attention to the voice in his head. "His name is Asylthas, son of Gilthas, grandson to Tanis. He is your cousin." So abruptly the mage spun around, the elf nearly toppled over the young wizard. "Who are you, and why are you telling me this?" the mage questioned, "show yourself you daemon, or are you a coward?"  
Sensing the anger and hostility in the reply, who or whatever was out there, wasn't happy. "I am no coward!" the voice pierced Seraph's skull as if it were split in two. Seraph instantly recognized the spidery words of magic, once the ringing in his ears dissipated. "Nor am I a daemon...Dulak!"  
An uneasy darkness descended upon the two travelers, too afraid to move in fear of attack, the mage and elf stood helplessly still. "Shirak..." A faint light began to glow atop a crystal adorned with a dragon's claw, positioned upon a delicately carved wooden staff. Slowly, the being in possession of the magnificent staff, began to part the darkness with the light.  
"An old oak staff, adorned with a golden dragon claw, and a magical crystal..." thought Seraph. "The Staff of Magius!" the mage realized as the magus in control of the staff stepped forward into the light. Dressed in the delicate Gold Robes, sagging upon the frail body beneath, a mage with golden skin and hourglass eyes approached. His steps were so light and quick, no trace of his presence was visible, and the only sound of his approach was the ruffle of his robes.  
"Yes Seraph, the Staff of Magius...One that hasn't been seen on Krynn for nearly a century. Why?" the mage asked with sly whisper, "because it has been with me in the Afterlife. I am the Demi-God of magic, wearer of the Gold Robes, and the greatest archmagus to ever live. My name is Raistlin Majere; I am your great uncle..."  
Trying his hardest to make any sense out of this, Seraph unintentionally passed out. "Asylthas, help him to his feet, we are expected." Raistlin commanded. Obeying the soft but harsh whisper, Asylthas ran over to the white robe and helped him to his feet. Once assured he would not fall, the elf slowly took a step back, awaiting any further orders.  
"Rais...Raistlin Majere?" Asylthas murmured. "You knew my grandfather, didn't you sir mage?" Assured that Seraph would be fine, Raistlin turned his attention to the elf's question. "Yes...you are the grandson of Tanis Half-Elven. I traveled with Tanis many years ago, during the War of the Lance. I never met your father, Gilthas..." Raistlin was forced to stop, overwhelmed by a coughing spasm. Picking himself off the ground with his staff, the archmagus carefully wiped the blood from his lips.  
"Tanis died the same year I returned from the Abyss, the same year I met my nephew Palin Majere. Your father was Palin, was he not Seraph?" The young mage turned and started to head toward the horizon, without so much as glance at his supposed great uncle. "Seraph..." Raistlin called out, "do no worry about finding the Forest, it has already found us." What Raistlin had said was true, new trees surrounded them, decaying and desolate, the Forest of Wayreth. 


	4. Shalafi Knows Best

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Special Thanks To: Dalamar Nightson, for being such a "Dalamar Fan", I've decided to reunite Dalamar with his new Demi-God Shalafi. Sparks are sure to ignite...  
  
Chapter Three: Shalafi Knows Best  
  
"How long until these trees let us in great uncle," asked Seraph, "do you think we made it on time?" Raistlin's golden eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he replied in an annoyed tone. "That is not necessary anymore," Seraph could see his was upset, "I am no older than forty-eight...I am too young to be your great uncle." Those words hit home, just as Raistlin had expected. "Do not worry about the Forest either; I have just the answer...That is if they, heh, deny my entry." The golden archmage's maniacal laughter shattered the eerie silence of the dreaded woods.  
"Par-Salian," yelled the Demi-God, "do not bar my path into this cursed wood!" Not one sound escaped the surrounding trees amongst the Tower, too thick were the woods. "This is your final warning," he called out in an even tone, "do you dare deny my entry?" Once more silence answered the archmagus. Growing more annoyed then angry, Raistlin took a silent step closer to the cursed woods.  
"Stand back my kin, you too elf." Raistlin closed his eyes as he lifted the golden veil of his robes from his face. A dark mist began to swirl around the mage's body, and storm clouds began to darken Wayreth Forest. Once adjusted to the change, Seraph was finally able to point out that the mist wasn't magic, but the living dead. Ghastly images of warrior deaths, massacred innocents, and all sorts of souls floated closer and closer to the Golden Robe. To sheer amazement, in this sea of souls, Raistlin lifted one finger and beckoned a single soul to him. "My apprentice, Dalamar, I need your assistance."  
Stealthily the soul of a dark elf, adorned with shreds of his Black Robes, crept closer to his former Shalafi. A dark and accented raspy voice came from the blood soaked mage. "You summoned me, my Shalafi?" Carefully choosing his words, Raistlin stepped closer to the mage's soul, with his right hand extended. "I wonder...Dalamar do you happen to remember the last time my hand touched your fair elven skin?" he was delving into the mage's darkest fears. "The magic I once held, and for your betrayal, I gave you those five blistering holes upon your chest. Do you remember the pain my dear apprentice?" Raistlin continued with a sly smile on his face, and a disastrous laughter caught up inside his throat.  
"...Yes, I remember" Dalamar's crisp voice made Asylthas and Seraphs' hair stand on end. "How could I forget a lesson like that, Shalafi?" "I'm honored you still call me your master, but there is only one more thing you must do for me..." Looking into his Shalafi's eyes, Dalamar could see the cunning he possessed and the plan that he was formulating. "You wish to enter the Forest?" A slight smile parted the archmage's lips. "You have grown in skill since your death, but you are still no match for me...Although I would appreciate it if you did the work so I don't get my hands dirty." Raistlin began to laugh in his own ambitious way, for some reason it always unnerved those near him. No matter how used to it they thought they were.  
"Dalamar, send your guardians and deliver this message to the master of the Tower," Raistlin paused as if to make up his mind. "Tell them, if they do not allow my great nephew and his companion to enter this Forest, they will face my wrath." Nodding in reassurance to his master, Dalamar quickly summoned his guardians and tried to go forth into the mystical woods.  
A magical barrier barred 'all' entry to the dreaded woods. Not even the dead could pass its shield. Whosoever controlled this magic was in a grave bit of trouble as Raistlin stepped forward.  
It was closing on the sixth hour on the seventh day of the seventh month, in one hour Seraph must be at the Tower, or risk missing his only chance at the Test. Raistlin for one was not willing to gamble his great nephew's chance at the Art. "That was your last warning, and now you will see what I am capable of!" Raistlin yelled as fire ignited with his ambition within those eerie eyes. The hourglass pupils were easily the only things identifiable on the archmage's face. Anger burned with malice, magic mixed with blood, and the taste of power filled Raistlin's mouth.  
"Now you will see what happens to those who dare defy me!" Raistlin shouted as the spidery words of magic flowed from his tongue. "Rysk...esyt...avoc...tinous..." Raistlin chanted. White radiant light flowed from his feet and made his golden robes shimmer. "Intri...ens...estransia...xisca...siahh..." Green light shone as Raistlin took steps closer and closer to the barred woods. "Tahh...zais...kanr...ast...enct...xuah..." Heat filled the humid air, burning and charring the land it passed. "Shirak...daihhs..." Lightning streaked from the mage's fingertips, burning down trees as he pressed onward toward the Tower.  
A dark figure could only watch helplessly as Raistlin's magic burnt and annihilated the woods surrounding his Tower. The Demi-God was too powerful for the Black Robe to challenge alone. Upon the last hundred yards from the Tower, Raistlin chanted the final words to his spell. "Ensa...desolatia...annihialstious..." Fire and magic of all color whirled around the mage, earthquakes toppled the trees. Lightning split them, and the rains drowned the dreaded wood. Light blinded the darkness of the Wayreth Forest, and a sphere of gold magic, was held in the palm of the greatest mage to ever live.  
"Asti...noustos...natiovs...deathialta..." The golden magic exploded, branching out toward the rest of the forest. Raistlin, Asylthas, and Seraph, stood still as stone and the gold light flared to life and began devouring everything. With a final tremor of magic, the dust settled upon the charred and barren wasteland. The Forest of Wayreth was gone, and the Tower of High Sorcery, unprotected. With a sigh of relief, Raistlin turned toward Dalamar. "You should know better than to fail me, you disappoint me my apprentice..." There was no mistaking the tone of sympathy and sorrow in Raistlin's voice.  
Before sending him away, Raistlin allowed Dalamar one last chance to redeem himself. "Dalamar, this is your only chance, what lesson have you learned today?" Carefully thinking his answer over, he answered. "Shalafi, I have learned you can't allow minor scratches to develop into flesh wounds, so to speak."  
"So, my apprentice, you are telling me what exactly?" Raistlin asked with another sly smile on his face. An expression that was a dead giveaway, he knew what Dalamar was going to say. "Shalafi," Dalamar replied with a respectful tone, "always knows best..." 


	5. Why Won't You Die?

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Chapter Four: Why Won't You Die?  
  
Dry charcoal crumbled and scattered beneath the trio's feet as they silently crept closer to the Tower. It was unusually quiet, a quiet normally attached to the dead. By high-noon, when the scorching sun rained down its heat with all its fury, the travelers rested upon the black obsidian of the Tower. Seraph's white robes were gray as could be, ashen. Even the forest elf Asylthas and his clothes were covered in ash and charcoal. Only Raistlin's gold robes seemed untouched by the ash and debris that had resulted in one of his own magical spells. Although his clothing was untainted, his coughing was the exact opposite.  
Cursing himself for weakness, Raistlin wiped the blood on his lips as the spasm lifted. "Damn all this ash," he cursed beneath his breath, "if Par-Salian had just let me enter, none of this would have happened..." Looking into his uncle's eyes, Seraph could see the ambition and frustration beneath them, if nothing else. "Raistlin," Seraph respectfully asked, "why wouldn't Par-Salian let us enter? It's not really his nature to do something like this. Besides, Par-Salian is no longer master of this Tower."  
"What!" Raistlin shouted as loud as his frail raspy voice would allow, "then who sent you the invitation to the Test?" Seraph could tell by the look in his great uncle's eyes that he meant business. "His name is quite difficult to pronounce, kin" he replied with the utmost sympathy and caution, "but it feels like I know who he is." Raistlin's patience was growing thinner with his kin than with Tasslehoff. "Tell me that blasted name for gods' sake!"  
"It started with an 'F'," he answered, "and if I remember correctly was quite long and hard to read." Raistlin's golden eyes revealed a hint of fear and frustration, of both malice and hatred. Somehow, Seraph felt his uncle knew who it was. "Was it by any chance Fistandantilus?" the Demi- God desperately asked. "Yes, that's his name, Fistandantilus...why, what do you know of him?"  
Cursing his luck beneath his frail breath, Raistlin turned his immediate attention to the doors of the Tower. "By my status as a god, open these doors Fistandantilus!" With an ancient creak, the doors swung open as a dark figure stepped forth into the dusk light. "Majere, I see we meet yet once more..." the figure laughed and mocked the archmagus. His voice was that of Fistandantilus, but the body was not. If you could even call that thing a body, it was more dead than alive, half spirit, half mortal.  
"I recognize your voice Dark One, but you seem to enjoy stealing the souls of my kin." Raistlin allowed as single snicker to escape his delicate lips. "Tell me, Dark One, how did you manage to escape me a second time? Better yet, how did you manage to steal my nephew's soul you parasite! How could you take Palin's...?" Raistlin doubled over in a coughing spasm.  
Palin answered, "It is simple even for someone of your stupidity Majere. Have you forgotten what it took to become a Demi-God?" "Yes," Raistlin answered, "I remember the pain of the tests..." Palin was outraged at this latest statement. "The pain, you felt no pain...It was I who suffered the pain of those grueling trials, but you forget the simple solution. I was not the one seeking Godhood; I only sought immortality, ultimate magical power."  
"When the gods passed judgment upon your soul, deeming you worthy to be at least a Demi-God, something happened to your soul." Raistlin interrupted, "Oh yeah, what would that something happen to be?" With a gleam in his eyes, Palin's eyes, he replied. "They took me away from your soul; they couldn't allow me to become a Demi-God...only you had that chance. When you obtained your power, I gained your nephew's soul. It always seemed to be easier to inhabit a Majere, I wonder why?"  
Just as furious as his great uncle, Raistlin stepped forward before Seraph could summon the spell to mind. "I've heard enough of your lies Fistandantilus," Raistlin was preparing to unleash a deadly spell. "You will return my nephew's soul to him, or you will die for good, right here and now!"  
Laughing, Fistandantilus took an unheeded step toward the archmagus. "In order to be rid of me, you would have to kill your own descendant." Raistlin too took a step forward. "And what makes you think..." Raistlin's laugh began to echo across the barren desert that was the Forest, "I have a problem with that." Raistlin's voice was so even and stern, his confidence caught Fistandantilus off guard, temporarily.  
Extending his right hand toward the mage, Raistlin chanted the spidery words of magic. "Thundrous...est...siahh..." Lightning flared to life from the archmage's fingertips, striking Fistandantilus with an impact like thunder, without the sound. Forced backward by the magic, Palin's half mortal body struck the Tower like a boulder. Falling to the ground, Fistandantilus stood up. "Nice try Sly One, but I guess your heart just wasn't in it this time..." He continued to laugh as Raistlin took another step closer, this time extending both his hands.  
"I will not say this a second time, release my nephew's soul, now! Flaris...helios...tahhias...rsyk...ast...inous..." This time thunder clapped as green light flared from his hands. Enveloping Fistandantilus and Palin, the duo was sent sprawling into the Tower once more, cracking the hard obsidian. Descending nearly half the height of the Tower, Fistandantilus once more stood up, unharmed.  
"Why won't you die?" Raistlin shouted as radiant gold light shimmered at the hem of his robes. "You will not test my great nephew, you will not take the art from him, and last of all, you shall never disobey a god again!" Gulls of wind whipped at Raistlin's unprotected face as his silver hair flowed in the wind. Streams of gold magic erupted in those hourglass eyes, his hair turned gold as he shone with the brilliance of the magic coursing in his veins.  
Lowering his hands to his waist, the winds' torrents picked up, fluttering his robes around him. But those eyes never took their decaying sight off their prey. The charred land beneath him began to crack and split as earthquakes ravaged the plains. Seraph and Asylthas stood transfixed as the power of Raistlin Majere swirled around them, protecting them. Eventually the seismic quakes became catastrophic, and even the half mortal Palin was forced to his knees. Fistandantilus was no match for Raistlin, not now, not ever.  
Raistlin's voice echoed and reverberated off everything at once, giving him the essence of true godhood. "There will be no more Tests...I shall give my nephew some power and the robes of the god he follows..." Raistlin's voice began harden, "As for you Fistandantilus, you've lived too long; you will die by my hands, and shall never rise again! Do you hear me Dark One, this is your demise!"  
"Raisiahh...eysk...nemua...ast..." The magic coursed in and about Raistlin's being. "Nias...ryskis...tahh...helios...ckour..." His power pulsated through everything; even Fistandantilus could feel the end. "Deathialta...sithyk...syks...annihialstious..."  
Flames of all colors spiraled from his body, poisonous green, deadly black, burning red, thundering blue and icy white. A massive cataclysm shook the tower from its foundations; thunder shattered the obsidian as if it were glass. "This...can't be happening!" Fistandantilus shouted as the glassy shards of the Tower fell upon him. Another thunderous forced flung him and the debris into the air. With a slight movement of his hand, the glass shards impaled Palin's body, piercing the parasite's soul.  
A gust of wind sent Fistandantilus toward a maelstrom of magic that now surrounded the golden archmage. Icy winds froze him in a specific spot above the Demi-God, he was trapped. Unable to leave or kill Palin's soul, Fistandantilus could only look on in horror as Raistlin raised both his hands to him. A faint gold aura shimmered amongst his hands before raging upward to devour him. With one final clap of thunder and a massive explosion of magic, Fistandantilus and Palin were both destroyed.  
The torrential winds of the aftershock sent Seraph and Asylthas to their knees. Raistlin, back to his frail body, stood there as the winds whip-lashed his robes and another spasm contorted his body. Rising from the ashes of the land, and wiping the blood from his lips, he laughed. "It is over..." sighing, Raistlin called his great nephew to him.  
"Seraph my dear great nephew, I offer you some of my power, now you must decide where your path will lead you. I can be of no more help, granted I never expected it to turn out this way, but I know we'll meet again. Until then, train your hardest, next we meet I shall test your skills. Farewell my kin, take care..."  
  
Raistlin picked up the Staff of Magius, and vanished as he turned and walked off into the horizon. Unbeknownst to Seraph, his great uncle was not returning to the Abyss, or the Gods' Council. Raistlin Majere, Demi- God of all magic, sought to become a pure God, and nothing less.  
Whispering to himself, Raistlin left behind his only surviving kin. "This is your time now, walk your own path, a path set forever before you. Never once doubt your own judgment, and we will meet again. I will protect and watch over you while I can."  
As he walked, Raistlin passed an old man, by the name of Fizban. "Ah Sly One, you seek full Godhood? But it is one thing you shall never have, now you will return with me to the Abyss and we shall continue the council." Raistlin never once looked back. "No Old One, you Gods have had your fun, now it is my turn." Fizban immediately called out to the mage as he headed toward the blood red horizon. "It will be the end for you if you do this Majere; I vow this on my life."  
"Foolish, very foolish Paladine...You are wrong, it is not the end," Raistlin's dark laugh filled the ears of Paladine. "It is only the beginning..."  
  
-----Even though this ends Vol. I of the Seraph Chronicles it doesn't mean the adventure won't continue. Hopefully, in the next week or so, look forward to Godhood, 'The Seraph Chronicles Vol. II----- 


	6. Only the Beginning

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Dragonlance: Godhood, 'The Seraph Chronicles Vol. II'  
  
Prologue: Only the Beginning  
  
"It will be the end for you if you do this Majere; I vow this on my life." Those words, Paladine's words, continued to haunt Raistlin as he slumbered. But after each repetitive time, he would smile at his response. "Foolish, very foolish Paladine...You are wrong, it is not the end...it is only the beginning..."  
"How am I to become a god, if I'm simply wandering around on rumors and prophecies?" wondered Raistlin. Now forsaken by the gods themselves, the archmage had no one for guidance. He alone was shunned from the gods' council, his seat empty. Even the constellations were pulled away from his decadent sight. "So this was your grand plan, my ultimate mistake?" Raistlin spoke, mocking Paladine. "To shun me from your assistance, to wander aimlessly among Krynn, that is the end of me?" Raistlin shouted upon deaf ears.  
They are fools, thought Raistlin. He wasn't going to listen; he would travel the ends of Krynn to find which he sought, godhood. Relieved at the destruction of Fistandantilus, he was at peace within himself, or so he thought. For weeks he seemed to travel in circles amongst the Dust Plains, his patience was growing frailer then his body itself. "A curse amongst you entities," the archmagus shouted. "You will rue the day you forsaken me."  
"Shirak..." With one word of magic, Raistlin ignited the crystal upon the Staff of Magius, and wandered further into the darkening horizon. The Staff's eerie light shimmered as Raistlin walked the path of the first prophecy.  
  
'Lesser of the gods, forsaken by his brethren...Shall the gold of magic, walk the path of desolate destruction...Led by the light of his own faith, and the ambition of a younger self.' First of Seven, Chaos' Prophecy. 


	7. Eyes of the Ambitious

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Chapter One: Eyes of the Ambitious  
  
'Ambition burns his soul and blood...Onward the path of Chaos...Shall the ambitious foolishly doubt...He may turn upon which he holds dear.' Second of Seven, Chaos' Prophecy.  
  
The raging sun above scorched the parched land that the magus walked. Even in long golden robes, his frail body was considerably cool. No vegetation lived in this desert, not one sign of life had Raistlin seen since that morning. It had dawned early than normal, with less need for the magic of his staff. It was the gods, they haunted his dreams, tortured his body during its wake. He would have revenge, revenge for forsaking one of their own.  
Reaching into one of his many concealed pouches, Raistlin brought forth a map he had stolen from that bumbling kender, or as Tas would put it, 'found'. No need to worry about the kender, thought Raistlin, he won't miss this one bit. Sitting upon a dry boulder, he spread the map out upon the ground carefully observing its features. "North, damn it" Raistlin cursed, "I've been going in the wrong direction!" Even after his travels with Tanis and the others, he still couldn't remember where everything was. For all he knew, the city he was searching for could very well be gone.  
"Istar," Raistlin whispered as he tucked the map back into its secret pouch. "It's buried beneath the Blood Sea, so I've heard. That's where my quest ends, and my reign begins." Raistlin snickered at his last response. Soon, that was all the motivation he needed. Soon he would be a god, a full god, he couldn't wait; his ambition was pushing him onward.  
Eventually, his frail body would go no further; sitting down, he decided to re-read a passage from one of Astinus' books from Palanthas.  
  
'In the temple of the King Priest, they created an arcane pedestal; upon this magic they would place the fate of mankind. To rest for eternity they imprisoned an ancient god of magic, one of the old gods, Majere. To ensure their survival, they disposed of all of Majere's followers, and mages. In the end they thought they did this for the good of mankind, but they all really understood in the Days of Torment. Their ambition gave birth to the power of Chaos in this world. They foolishly acquired and held a spiritual magic artifact called the Graygem, not knowing it housed the most powerful god of them all. Through specified tests and incarnations, their mages have learned that the Graygem and the pedestal hold ancient power. Only if a mage with the true gift, uses the proper words, known only to those who fulfill all seven of the prophecies, will gain access to the most powerful magic ever created, godhood.' Astinus, 0 P.C.  
  
"I must have that power!" Raistlin shouted in rage, "Paladine, neither turning your back to me nor observing me can change the result of my pilgrimage. I will have godhood, and none of you gods can stop me!" Ignoring the pleas of pain from his body, Raistlin continued to trek further and further toward the north, to the Blood Sea. Nothing, not even Chaos himself could prevent him from his goal, he was completely devoid of all emotion; except one, ambition. 


	8. Deja Vu

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Chapter Two: Déjà vu  
  
"Sir, sir wake up!" called a barmaid at the Inn of the Last Home in Solace. A restless mage begun to stir awake, heavily hung-over from all the dwarf spirits, "Wha...what time is it?" Nearby sat an elf carefully sipping the same glass of wine, waiting for his friend to regain composure. "Finally awake I see; by the way do you mages always get drunk off your lazy asses?" mocked Asylthas, jolting Seraph to reality. "While we mages get drunk..." Seraph toppled off the bar stool and vomited the remainder of his ailment. "You lazy elves take hours to drink a small glass of wine!" Asylthas and the barmaid could definitely tell Seraph was far too drunk and hung-over to be a threat. "Just to be sure you cannot burn us all to a crisp..." Asylthas joked as he struck the mage across the face, knocking him out, "it wouldn't hurt if you took another nap."  
Gently turning Seraph to his side, just incase he vomited again, he wouldn't drown. Raistlin would seek vengeance upon the elf's soul if he failed to keep his great nephew from harm. One way or another, like it or not, Asylthas was stuck in this predicament. Besides that, if he did fail, how would he be able to stand against the most powerful archmagus to ever live, a Golden Robe, and on top of all that, a Demi-God! "This was supposed to be nothing more than an accompany trip and then back to Silvanost," the elf murmured as he took another sip of wine, "why did it have to be me?"  
Retracing his steps throughout the last week or so, Asylthas stared blankly into the hearth of the Inn, just as another pair of golden eyes stared back. Jumping nearly a foot, the elf bowed to the flames licking the wooden oak inside the fireplace. "Um, may I ask you kind sir, why are you bowing to the fire in the fireplace?" the barmaid humbly asked. Turning his attention back to the hearth instead of the absent-minded maid, he realized the eyes were gone. Were those truly Raistlin's eyes, or a trick of his own fears? Either way he wasn't going to stick around to find out. Lowering himself from one of the stools a gang of heavily cloaked figures stepped before him as he lifted the mage unto his shoulder.  
Four in all, each were armed with massive two handed broadswords and matching daggers to boot. Without his bow, and without the aid of Raistlin or his nephew's magic, how was he going to get out of this one? Carefully Asylthas began to back up toward the bar, but before he took more than three steps back, the cloaked figures reached for their daggers, mainly for easy prey and close quarters. As each of them skillfully drew forth their weapons, Asylthas saw four black objects spiraling toward their defenseless backsides. With a thud four skillets bashed into the brutes' heads and fell helplessly to the floor, knocked well unconscious.  
Taking this only chance, Asylthas dashed out of the Inn of the Last Home, narrowly missing Raistlin as he entered the Inn. Not even noticing the mage, the elf continued to run toward the stables, hopefully able to catch a few horses to Silvanesti. Raistlin's golden eyes stared at the battle seen, if you could even call it a battle. The second the hourglass pupils met the four skillets lying on the floor, he knew what had happened. "Déjà vu" was all Raistlin could say. Reminiscing about the days of old, back during the War of the Lance, and the skillet bashing Tika Majere had found such professional talent in.  
"Yes, Caramon had somewhat a good choice in women" Raistlin reluctantly admitted, "Tika was just as stubborn as he, and quite the warrior too." Stepping over the unconscious figures, the archmagus sat down in the corner, near the hearth. Allowing the heat of the flames to warm his body, Raistlin drifted off to sleep, just like old times. "Déjà vu" was the last thing Raistlin said before slumber took him.  
  
'Regretting past decisions...Wishing to be mortal only to reminisce of life's grand adventures...Similar to the one hated kender...A mage shall for once, doubt his judgment.' Third of Seven, Chaos' Prophecy. 


	9. The Nightmare on Inn Street

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Chapter Three: The Nightmare on Inn Street  
  
Floor boards gave way as the fire devoured their foundations, the support beams creaked under the pressure of the burning rooftop. The seats, including the bar ignited in flames so hot, death would be more pleasurable by dragon's fire. An ash covered mage, silently walked across the decaying floor boards, and pass the raging fire, to a single clock on the opposite wall. Still untouched by the heat of the flames, the clock chimed twelve just as another mage ran into the burning inferno. Frantically the mage searched, but could not find what it was he sought. Just as the clock finished its twelfth chime, the entire building collapsed upon the mage, stranded under the towering flames.  
Just narrowly escaping the inferno, the ash covered mage could hear the screams of anguish and agony as the fellow wizard was burnt alive. As if being pulled from a nightmare, the mage's last sight was that of the building's sign, the Inn of the Last Home.  
Raistlin Majere woke up covered in beads of sweat as the clock in the Inn struck eleven. Wiping the sweat from his face Raistlin stood up. "I probably shouldn't have slept next to the hearth," the mage pondered, "The heat must have interrupted my peaceful slumber. It was just a nightmare, nothing else." Picking up the Staff of Magius, Raistlin walked out of the Inn of the Last Home, to catch some fresh air.  
"The first night in weeks that the gods haven't interrupted my slumber," Raistlin whispered, "then last night I have a true nightmare..." The archmagus paced for a good half an hour, before his stomach decided it was lunch time. Walking back into the Inn, he nervously glanced at the clock on the far right wall. It read 11:45, in fifteen minutes; Raistlin would truly see if his nightmare was only what it seemed.  
Then it dawned on him, the two mages in his nightmare. The ash covered mage was him, and that would mean the other was his kin. "I can't believe I was that foolish," Raistlin murmured, "besides, Seraph wouldn't be that stupid to come back here." As if nothing else was around him, the chime of the clock startled Raistlin, almost knocking him out of the chair. "Noon," Raistlin whispered, "Now we shall see."  
Thunder rumbled on the distant horizon, and dark clouds formed above the Inn. Sulfur rained down and devoured all vegetation, burned all the trees, and caught the Inn ablaze. "That was their plan," Raistlin thought, "to eliminate me." The clock chimed at second time. No Seraph, relief rushed over Raistlin, it was only a dream. As the clock chimed its third, the door of the Inn shattered as a Red Robe dashed in.  
"A curse to you gods," Raistlin shouted as he dashed to the door to knock his nephew out. The clock chimed its fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh chime before Raistlin made it to where he nephew entered. Coughing from all the smoke that now blocked his sight, the clock chimed its eighth, ninth, and tenth stroke. "No time to worry about Seraph, he can take care of himself. Maybe my nightmare was only the worse that could happen; maybe Seraph can make it out alive." Raistlin whispered to himself as he stepped out of the Inn.  
Getting as far from the Inn as possible, the rain of sulfur and storms dissipated as the twelfth chime rang. The building collapsed upon Seraph, and his uncle could do nothing to stop the screams of agony and death that shattered his mind. Flames licked and burned his body; pikes of wood pierced his chest and legs. Magic was bleeding out of him, crimson as it was. Seraph was dying, and Raistlin could do nothing to stop it.  
"I can bring you back my nephew," Raistlin whispered, "I have yet to find the key to Godhood." Raistlin raised his hands to the air as a faint gold aura shone upon his palms. Without the need for words, the archmagus directed his magic to the Inn. With a cataclysmic explosion of magic, the golden light devoured everything in its wake, only a massive cloud of smoke stood where the Inn once was.  
Turning, Raistlin deserted the final resting place of his young nephew, in search for a greater ambitious purpose. His quest for Godhood.  
  
'A mage of the first three prophecies...Abandons the one he now thinks dead...Disgracing his final resting place the Chosen follows his ambition.' Fourth of Seven, Chaos' Prophecy. 


	10. From the Ashes

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Chapter Four: From the Ashes  
  
Fire red eyes gleamed from beneath the smoke of the inferno. It had to only have been days since the Inn of the Last Home was burnt down, but thanks to Raistlin Majere, the smoke was only starting to diminish. A mage stepped forward from the bellowing smoke, his red robe in shreds. Blood crusted his torn robes, and arcane runes adorned his outfit, ablaze with the intensity of fire.  
"He abandoned me, my own blood," the mage murmured under his breath. The sun was setting in the horizon, which was his destination. Walking on toward the sunset, Seraph could only think of one thing, revenge.  
  
Having walked a great deal of distance since the burning of the Last Home, Raistlin sat down upon a stone, catching his breath. For some reason, the temperature seemed to grow intently hotter as the day progressed. Not usual for this time of year, some strange magic was at work here, definitely not the magic of the Gods either. "It's probably my imagination" Raistlin reassured himself, as he laid down for a 'quick' nap.  
The temperature continued to rise as Raistlin slumbered, if it was not for the burning touch of a nearby traveler, Raistlin may not have woken up. "Who woke me?" Raistlin questioned. A familiar voice answered, but the voice didn't match the appearance. "I did, Raistlin Majere..." the traveler replied. "Oh," Raistlin murmured, "and who would you happen to be, sir?" The traveler's eyes gazed in shock as Raistlin asked. "I am you great nephew, Seraph, do you not recognize me?" Seraph asked.  
"I guess not," Seraph replied for the archmagus. "How could you? Besides it was because of you that I still live." Raistlin, shocked at this accusation, calmly responded to this stranger's persona. "You are not my nephew; my nephew was killed a few days ago. Even if he did survive, you look nothing like him."  
"Never judge a book by its cover dear uncle." Seraph sneered. "Remember when you gave me some magic of yours, to give me these red robes? When I died by the flames and your magic, your power woke inside of me. I was brought back to life, but only in this torturous body." Seraph paused to catch his breath. Raistlin could only stare at his stranger. He said he was Seraph Majere, his nephew. But Raistlin knew that could not be, this stranger had red hair that appeared to be ablaze with all the rage of fire, and his pupils were flames. His eyes were fiery red, and his robe had arcane runes encrypted in fire upon the flowing shreds of his outfit. This couldn't be his nephew, but in a sense it was.  
"Your magic mixed with the burning flames, gave me this hair and robes, it even gave me a more accursed vision than your own." Seraph sighed. "Through these eyes I see not only the decaying of life that yours see, but the death of life itself. I see the deaths of all life I look upon, I can even be the cause of that death. With each passing day my body temperature rises." Seraph sighed once more. "My body is burning from the inside out, but it does not matter. My quest is your quest; I seek the same as yourself. I seek godhood, as do you. We share only two things in common now, my dear uncle."  
Raistlin smiled, "Oh, and what's that?" Seraph imitated his uncle's smirk, "The Art, and our ambition..." 


	11. The Three Gems

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Chapter Five: The Three Gems  
  
A familiar smirk crossed the archmage's lips, "You actually think Godhood can save you now?" Raistlin sneered. "You fool," the archmage snorted, "even the gods are susceptible to pain. If what you say is true, then eventually your immortal body, too, wouldn't be able to sustain life. The inner inferno growing within you will be your death. I am shamed to have once called you nephew; you are nothing more than an ambitious fool."  
"Am I?" Seraph imitated his great uncle's crooked smile. "What side will you choose, I wonder? Evil? Good? Or perhaps neutral?" With a bewildered look Raistlin set out to interrogate his nephew. "What do you mean, I follow no one, and I will choose Neutrality." Seraph continued to smile that maniacal smirk of his. "Then tell me, Majere, which gem should you seek out in order to obtain the power of Neutrality?" "Gems?" Raistlin asked, pondering the possibilities himself.  
"The three gems," Seraph began, "were created upon ancient days before the Cataclysm. One of the most infamous of these gems is of course the Gray Gem. Representing neutrality, the Gray Gem has been known to lure all kinds of people, good and evil. This is the balance of the energy of our world." Anxiety having built within Raistlin long enough he questioned his nephew. "That is only one gem, what of the other two?"  
"Patience my kin all will be explained in good time. Now, as you said, I have not yet answered your full question. The other two gems have been lost to history, or so it seemed. One was the Black Gem, barrier of the evil energy of this world. The third gem was the White Gem, barrier of the pure energy of Krynn. Of course then there's the Chaos Pedestal, but you already knew that..." Raistlin nodded in agreement, and understanding.  
"Whosoever finds the Chaos Pedestal must place upon its grand arcane craft, one of the three sacred gems. Once placed the gem of choice shall determine the side of balance the new god resides. For example, if you place the Gray Gem upon that pedestal you will forever be on the side of Neutrality, Black for evil, and White for good. It's that simple."  
With a smirk, Raistlin cast his nephew into slumber. "Goodnight Seraph, when we meet again, I will be a god of all balances. All thanks to your information, now all I have to do is find all three gems. Heh...foolish my nephew, you gave me the information you should have not. Rest...Dulak" Darkness overtook the land, and once dissipated, Raistlin was gone. But silently, and peacefully upon the stone slept Raistlin's only living kin. Seraph Majere had no idea what fatal mistake he had made. 


	12. Priests' Pass

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporation's works.  
  
Chapter Six: Priests' Pass  
  
'Marble, obsidian, and stone; three gates to the highest peak. Par- Acys, archmagus of good passes on the White Gem into the right side of the tri-pass. Nar-Koure, archmagus of evil passes on the Black Gem into the left side of the tri-pass. Rai-Maijis, archmagus of neutrality passes on the Gray Gem into the center of the tri-pass. I, Astinus record this to be the most dangerous and sacred act of the first age. Without fully comprehending their secrets, these three mages pass to Krynn, the key to Godhood. Astinus, 4000 P.C.'  
  
"Par-Acys, Nar-Koure, and Rai-Maijis; the three greatest archmagus ever to live during the first age" Astinus stated as Raistlin paced around the antechamber, "each was as aspiring and ambitious as you are Majere. They were the best of friends, until the Test. After discovering that each took one of the three paths, they traveled in search of the Gray Gem. Rumored at that time to give immortality, of course, that was only half true."  
"So," Raistlin began, "Rai-Maijis was the one to find the Gray Gem, and in their search, Par-Acys found the White Gem, and Nar-Koure found the Black Gem. Of course the two new gems were by accident." Astinus looked up from his recording, "Yes, and together they created the tri-pass, a pass for pilgrimages and such. Each leading to one gem, there all that made the journey alive would pray to the gem and offer thanks for the balances of life."  
Raistlin only nodded in satisfaction. "Of course," Astinus began, "it wouldn't be another three and a half millennia before the priests of Istar created the Chaos Pedestal." The archmage stopped pacing and strode over to a column of chronicles. "Tell me, Astinus, where I might find this...tri-pass." Astinus ceased recording, an incident he hardly had time to practice. With grand strides, the historian picked a specific book and began to read its contents.  
  
'The tri-pass of legends was located in what is now the heart of Istar. Through a passageway in the High Priest's antechamber, leads the Chosen to the gates thrice. Astinus, 100 P.C.'  
  
"I am truly sorry Majere, but there is no way to uncover the three gems of balance, nor the Chaos Pedestal. They lie beneath a massive sea; no magic can reach their depths now." A similar dark smirk swept across the archmage's face. "Wrong again Astinus, I rule magic, I have entry." "What will you do" the historian frowned, "about your great nephew Majere?" "If he interferes, I will kill him. Before the inferno burning inside him can." Raistlin smiled. "I bid you good day, Astinus...Evaporis...Envisibilos..." In a wave of magic, the archmagus was gone.  
  
Some twelve hours later, in the dead of night awakes the inner hatred of a Majere. "I can't believe he still was able to pull that on me. I gave him all the information he needed." Seraph grimaced at his foolishness. "No doubt he already knows what he must do, or find for that matter. But why did he go through the trouble of tricking me, he could have just gone to Astinus." Suddenly the answer shot through Seraph. "Damn, I forgot about Astinus! How long have I been out? Hopefully he hasn't had enough time to find the first gem, gods forbid it if he has." 


	13. The Silvanesti Hunt

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporations' works.  
  
Chapter Seven: The Silvanesti Hunt  
  
"Now remember the most important rule of them all, who or whatsoever enters these woods on thy day of hunt, shall fall victim to our arrow. In latent terms my fellow elven hunters, except for each other, hunt whatever your eyes can see." declared the proud leader of the Silvanesti.  
Before the sun set amiss the horizon, the Silvanesti Forest was blood- soaked with deer, rabbits, and all sorts of animals. Normally in elven culture, especially the Silvanesti, life is never taken for granted. Killing is never an honest participation, but once every three years a Hunt can take place. The Hunt grants all able-bodied elven hunters to quench the forests of their homeland with a bloodbath instead of rainfall. This is the only time in which it is acceptable for an elf to take life.  
A lone hunter, unsatisfied with the day's game, waits silently as a red cloaked stranger enters the woods. "Fool, if he is an enemy I should strike him down, nonetheless, by law on this day he shall die for entering the Hunt." Asylthas reassured himself. "He couldn't have been here, could he?" wondered the stranger. "I truly doubt..." the stranger abruptly stopped as an arrow whistled pass his right shoulder, slicing the already shredded robe.  
Anger ignited in the stranger's fiery eyes. "You're a very lucky person, had I expected that arrow, it would have burned into nothingness before me. You're welcome to try that one again if you wish." With the nock of another arrow, Asylthas smiled, "Let's just see about that!" With elven grace the arrow was loose and whistling closer and closer to its prey. "Hmph..." the stranger snickered as the arrow stopped a good yard before him. As if stuck within a forge the arrow caught fire and incinerated into what the stranger had called 'nothingness'.  
Furious with being proven a fool, the elf let loose the rest of his arrows, each stopping the same yard before the stranger. But like the first and the last they all incinerated upon contact with the mysterious barrier. "Here I thought you elven kind never miss your target," the stranger mocked. "Shut up!" Asylthas yelled, "What are you?" The stranger silently crept closer to the elf's hiding spot. "I am but a simple red robe mage."  
"Then you must be Raistlin Majere, for no magic of this world could do what you have just done." Asylthas could see the maniacal smile on the mage's lips. "Sorry, can't say that I am, but I was wondering if Raistlin has passed through these woods lately?" Feeling a little bit more relaxed, Asylthas put down his bow and thought about the matters at hand. "Actually Majere came by nearly a day ago, he searched the chapel and once he found what he was looking for, he vanished. Had I known he had someone looking for him, I would have stalled for time. I'm truly sorry, why is it that you seek the archmagus?"  
"He stole something from me, something precious." "What was it?" Asylthas questioned. Defiantly the mage answered, "My life."  
  
'Life is grand and fragile, death nearly snatches the Chosen's kin.' Fifth of Seven, Chaos' Prophecy. 


	14. Apocalypse

Disclaimer: I own nothing referring to Dragonlance or any other corporations' work.

Chapter Eight: Apocalypse

"Two down, one to go." Raistlin silently reassured himself. He knew that the last gem he would seek lay beneath the monstrous Blood Sea of Istar. "I still can't believe those Silvanesti had enough courage to leave their home, yet alone find two of the sacred gems I seek. What a mysterious and courageous race." Raistlin stopped, and scoffed away the compliment. "What am I saying, mysterious yes, but courageous, not on my life. But then again," the archmagus smiled, "I've already lost my life."

Silently the magus reached into one of the golden robe's many pouches and drew out two gems, one black, and the other white. "Now the White Gem I understand, but why would those elves keep the Black Gem, aren't they aware of its black magic? Nevertheless, it matters not to me, for soon my dreams of godhood will be at hand."

Darkness was beginning to descend upon the horizon; the archmagus decided it was best to camp out the night rather than head on toward the Blood Sea at night. "Shirak" the archmagus spoke as the crystal upon his wooden staff flared to life, leaving behind a dull gray light, enough for protection, enough to stay hidden. Tomorrow I'll reach the shores of the Blood Sea, and then the gods themselves will see what can be done about the minor problem of the sea itself, and by the end of the day, I'll achieve my desire. But most the credit should go to my nephew, for if it was not for him, then I would have never decided to go out of my way for the other two gems." Raistlin smiled at a malicious thought, "and to prove him wrong, I'll use all the gems instead of choosing sides. I'll be damned if I would join the side of Takhisis, or Paladine." Even with such disturbing thoughts as those, the archmagus was soon sound asleep, waiting the dawn of his new beginning.

"Take me to the chapel which this Raistlin visited you say, now!" a fiery eyed mage shouted. An elf, medium in size stepped up to oppose this intrusion. "First state your business here in Silvanesti, then your name, and then perhaps you'll be allowed to visit the chapel." Patiently the magus took the verbal nonsense until he couldn't take any more of it. "I don't give a damn about your procedures!" fire burned in his eyes, making his point clear. The mage silently raised his right hand, "if you don't let me through this moment you can kiss your homeland goodbye!"

"Nonsense, you don't have the power to do so," Asylthas spoke, "only a Majere could do that, one of which you are not." Pleased with his accusation, Asylthas began to walk away. The magus instead turned his hand to the back of the elf lord. "Don't turn your back on me, Asylthas for I am a Majere indeed. My name is Seraph, or do you not remember me?" the magus smirked. The mention of Seraph startled the elf to the marrow, "You can't be Seraph, because he died when the Inn of the Last Home burnt down. I heard his agonizing cries. I know you are not he, leave or you will be escorted out."

"I demand to see this chapel, and not one of you will stop me!" Seraph shouted as the magic began to mix with his blood, boiling it to the surface. Asylthas had taken all the senseless bickering back and forth he could take, "Guards, take him away!" To the elves surprise a red aura was flickering around the magus, keeping several guards at bay. "Out of my way......" Flames ignited the magic aura around him, turning the red mage into a burning furnace. Leaves and twigs began to burn and crumbled under the heat of the mage's fire. Each step burning more lives of the plants the elves so dearly loved, Seraph continued to make his way forward to the chapel.

As Seraph wrecked terror on the elves and their homeland, a bright and warm sunrise woke an archmage, his gold robes glistening in the light. Shaking off the light dew that dampened even his body, the magus whispered the words of magic and the bright magic of the Staff blinked out. Golden eyes starred at the orange and sky blue glow that reflected on the horizon, allowing him to be lost within. In an absence of his thought, a low growl rumbled from beneath him. Extremely paranoid, ever watchful, the magus jumped back against the tree of which he slept in the shelter of its branches the night before.

"What is that sound, I don't recognize it?" the mage hissed as he heard it again, this time even louder. Realizing its secrets, the mage began to laugh at his stupidity. He had been dead far too long, he had forgotten a mortal body needed food. "Mortal!" shrieked Raistlin as the dark pit in his stomach rumbled again. Panic stole the breath from his lungs as he began to cough hysterically. In a gasp of breath real air flooded his now living lungs, as the cough dispersed. "It must be the power of the gems, or a plan of the gods to keep me from reaching my goal." Raistlin reassured himself as he took another gasp of air, only this time it was painful. He was dying; he had been dead for well over fifty years, his body nearly seventy.

"So that was why you foolish gods did nothing to stop me." Raistlin scoffed in frustration. "You knew it required a mortal body to become a god, and since I have been dead so long, I'll have a greater chance of dying before I reach the sea." Raistlin spat at the gods for doing this to him. But to him it meant nothing, he knew the one exception. "Do you hear me up there? I may be mortal, and close to death, but I have one thing a normal mortal does not." Raistlin smiled his dark smirk. "I hold control in both realms of existence you fools, mortal I may be, but Demi-god I am still!"

"If a mortal can use the power of abyss to bring something to him, then," Raistlin laughed "a Demi-god should be able to do the same on mortal plain. Blood Sea of Istar, bring yourself forth!"

Behind him burned a massive furnace of magic, lives sacrificed for nothing, beautiful exotic plants extinct, and the last remaining structure of the Silvanesti elves stood before him. Allowing the magical fire to die, and the flaming aura to dissipate, Seraph Majere stood before the chapel of Silvanost. Gorgeous crystal pillars supported a dome frame of rare ore, a platinum bell hung from one of the many terraces on the masterpiece. Admiring the scenery before entering, Seraph felt relaxed. Soon he would enter this chapel and discover what it was his uncle took, and then he would know where to find him. "I'll kill Raistlin if it's the last thing I do." Seraph promised.

Within the last step to the magnificent glass doors of the chapel, a thunderous earthquake rumbled. It felt as if the world itself had gone insane, images blurred Seraph's vision. But one image replayed in his mind, the sight of the chapel crumbling under the tremendous force of the shockwave. When he came to his senses, Seraph found himself in the High Tower of Sorcery in Palanthas. A ghastly image stood before him, a black robe, the dark elf Dalamar.

In a struggle to stand up, Seraph collapsed as pain seared his back and skull. Trying again, despite the pain, he fell again with a painful groan. "Where am I?" the red robe asked. Dalamar's ghastly apparition answered in a bone-chilling voice. "My tower, once the High Tower of Sorcery in Palanthas, but alas the city is no more I'm afraid." Dalamar sighed, as if he sensed remorse for what had happened to the mage.

"Dalamar..." Seraph began. "What...what do you mean...no more...what happened to it...?" The dark elf stood silent near the magus, listening to him gasp for what air he could breathe in without pain. "You're in pain because you broke through the magical walls of my tower. As for Palanthas, it doesn't matter, all will be over soon." Dalamar it seemed to Seraph couldn't continue.

"What's all over...what do you mean...Dalamar...please...tell me!" Seraph yelled as loud as his raspy voice could allow. Calmly Dalamar closed what it appeared to be his eyes, and once more his chilling voice made the hairs on Seraph's arm stand on end. "Palanthas, and every other city or town on this realm was destroyed only moments ago. By my _Shalafi_, you see young Seraph; your great uncle is now mortal and retains his godlike power. He used the same trick as in the abyss to summon the Blood Sea to him, since death now stalks him in old age it would seem." Dalamar sighed. "You see, when your uncle unleashed those powers on our realm of existence it caused an earthquake that destroyed every building in our world, except this tower."

"What about...all the innocent..." Seraph couldn't continue his breathing plagued by the pain of breath. "You mean the people?" Dalamar finished for him. "None perished that I can sense, strange though," the dark elf paused, seeming to think the matter over in his head. "Why did the earthquake keep every last human alive?" Seraph, whose breathing was becoming even less frequent, wondered what the dark elf was thinking. The answer came to Seraph as Dalamar muttered one word before falling to his knees. "Sacrifice..."

'Beneath the Blood of the sea rests a damned city, through the Art shall enter the Chosen.' Sixth of Seven, Chaos' Prophecy.

Opening his hourglass eyes, Raistlin Majere stood before the Blood Sea of Istar, pride and excitement swelled up within him. "I am here..." the archmagus softly called out as a golden aura surrounded him. "I am Chosen..." in a brilliant display of power, the golden aura shot forth across the Blood Sea, decimating the maelstrom in its heart. Raistlin couldn't believe this was happening he was fulfilling prophecies he knew not of, and was doing the impossible. He was unknowingly raising a city long since dead. "I am Art..." the mage's body was doused in golden light as seismic waves shook the world of mortals.

As if called by an unknown force, the golden aura began to seep within and mix with the Blood Sea, becoming the magic of the archmagus. Closing his eyes one last time Raistlin felt the power of magic fill the sea. Slowly the golden light of the magic shined in the hourglass voids of his eyes, and the sea roared. The land around him shook and shattered, morphed and disintegrated. Into the cold air, rose the ruins of a once wondrous empire, the city of Istar. Its doors open to the golden archmagus, the Demi-god, and the mortal Raistlin Majere, and inside waited the fate of all kind.

Time, life, the world, none seemed to matter to the archmagus as he began to ascend the stairs to the temple of the high priest. Lost in thought, and visions of Istar in its prime flooded the mage. Guided by the eyes of another, the high priest himself, he walked the same path to the antechamber of the Chaos Pedestal. Marvelous tapestries hung on the many walls and pillars, gold; worn and ancient adorned the mighty room, and in the center sat the Gray Gem itself.

No longer clouded by the visions and memories of Istar, Raistlin Majere could see his own cursed eyes gleaming back at him on every facet of the gem. Slowly, mainly cautious, the archmagus picked up the dormant gem and placed it in a pouch in his golden robe. "Now," thought Raistlin "where is the hidden passage to the Chamber of Chaos again?" Closing his eyes he entered the memories of the mages that sealed away the Chaos Pedestal. "One says left, another right, one up and one down?" Raistlin murmured.

"I understand the visions; they're a puzzle, a riddle." Raistlin muttered. The archmagus closed his eyes and walked off in the direction of his left. Not wanting to use his eyes for only the Art can find one of its own. At the point of change in the arcane presence, Raistlin turned to his right walking dead on toward a wall. The mage could hear his footsteps and began to grow frantic, if he didn't sense a change soon he'd end up running into the wall.

At the moment of doubt, to his surprise the presence stopped and continued upward. Acting through the magic, Raistlin rose to follow this precise trail. When he could feel the top of the ceiling the arcane trail dissipated, opening his eyes he saw a corner piece of the floor tapestry. "Wait a second!" Raistlin's mind screamed. "The tapestry is the key, look at it, arcane symbol for chaos written upon it." The magic burned inside like a roaring fire, out of his control it screamed to destroy the tapestry, to destroy the seal that held fast the hidden passage. Folding under the pressure, the magic was released with such intensity the tapestry burned into nothingness.

Like the click of lock the seal snapped and the archmagus heard stone scrape stone as the hidden passage was revealed. Walking blinded unto the antechamber of chaos, Raistlin's inner ambition boiled to be released. He thought of his nephew, his need to prove him wrong, his rise to power that he had chosen; the archmagus couldn't wait much longer.

The dim light of the Chaos Chamber came into view as Raistlin stepped forth into the misty room that was filled with seals and candles with every color flame, all safety precautions to keep thieves away. But most importantly seal away the power of the Chaos Pedestal that they created. "I wonder if those fools can overcome the power of all three gems and my magic." Raistlin pondered.

Retrieving the three gems from separate pouches in his gold robe, Raistlin walked across the dust covered floor to the Chaos Pedestal. Marvelous, spectacular, unbelievable, the Pedestal was composed of Obsidian, Crystal, Silver, Gold, Quartz, Topaz, and Aquamarine ore. All woven together in a magnificent masterpiece, endowed with the magical strengths of an Amethyst orb, this was truly the Chaos Pedestal. Raistlin let out a malicious and ambitious laugh as he placed all three gems on the Pedestal at once.

At that moment time itself froze for Raistlin Majere, while time continued to pass outside Istar, Dalamar fell to his knees cursing his _Shalafi_.

'Blinded by ambition, and pressured to a single side, the Chosen shall choose all. Then in the true ramifications of his decision, shall it end.' Seventh of Seven, Chaos' Final Prophecy.

For eternity Raistlin thought the pain would continue until he felt the pleasing power of magic start to complete him, fuse with him, godhood would be his. His body became translucent and began to fade. But when a white light shot out of the Pedestal of which the gems sat, Raistlin began to glow a brilliant white. Unknown to the archmagus, the white light was death in power, as it began to steadily creep over the world itself, stealing the minds, bodies, souls, and magic of those it touched. Life was going to die to give eternal life and ultimate power.

Wherever the light touched it remained, lives perished, absorbed into the powerful magic, as it continued its way to one place, Palanthas.

"Dalamar...what's wrong?" Seraph pleaded with the newly revived mage. "Shut up, just shut up!" the dark elf shouted. "Because of your damn uncle, the world is over! That's what the sacrifice means, all life dies to give eternal life to your uncle, godhood Seraph!" Dalamar fell to his knees still cursing his _Shalafi_ for his foolishness. Seraph began to move, slowly at first, then faster until he was able to stand up. "Dalamar, help me stay up, I want to see what my uncle has unleashed before I die."

"Do what he says Dalamar..." came a familiar voice from a dark room in the tower. "Why should I Astinus? What's the point, we're going to die and we are unable to stop it!" Dalamar was now yelling at the top of his voice. Astinus sat down at the table behind the two mages, pull out a book and pen, and began to finish the last chronicle of Krynn and its history. While he was busy at work, and the two mages silently waiting for their ultimate demise the magic was steadily growing ever closer to them. They could all see the light as it broke the horizon on all sides. It was the end, they were trapped, and the final three sacrifices necessary to give Raistlin his ambitious dream.

"I see the magic of our doom Seraph! Can you see or have you fallen to close to death, darkness is what your eyes see?" Dalamar asked, now forced to yell for the sound of the magic was deafening. "Yes, I see it." Seraph wanted to say, but he couldn't make his mouth move. He was so afraid of death; he wished he could have stood up against his uncle. But he realized it was too late now, one way or another they were all going to die in moments. He momentarily glanced at Astinus. "He's still writing, he must be determined to finish what his life started." Seraph thought.

'In a world full of mortal existence I Astinus was endowed the sacred task of recording the history of this world, Krynn, from beginning 'til the bitter end. So thus it shall be. Raistlin Majere is now nearing complete godhood, an archgod he shall soon become. Here in front of me now stand the last two mortals, Dalamar the dark, and Seraph Majere. Two mages are humanity's last survivors, ironic I do believe. Before them now, creeps the deafening sound of Raistlin's magic, all other life is gone, all ruins and remains gone, as if it never were. It is too late, when Raistlin re-enters this world from Istar he shall look upon the horror his ambition has caused. Then if he fulfills his promise, the war shall ascend the barriers of existence to the realm of the gods...

"I can't take this!" Seraph's mind shouted. The magic burned to be set free, he had no choice but to try. "If this doesn't work all is lost, but it matters not to me, at least my uncle will have received what he always wanted. But it shall cost him everything." Seraph murmured as he let go of Dalamar, and walked out of the tower. He was going to try to stop this magic, one way or another.

'...Outside now stands the only relative of the archmagus Raistlin Majere. His great nephew Seraph stands firm and challenges the magic of his deluded uncle. Magic mixes with his blood and his life, fire flows freely from his cuts, scars, eyes and body. In a blaze he catches fire, the dark shadow of his wavering body beneath the flames of magic is all that can be seen. It is a selfless sacrifice that he has chosen. In an explosion of magic from the young mage the obsidian of the last High Tower of Sorcery shatters, raining its daggers of death upon us. By luck we survive, but not for long for the magic is upon us, in only one moment and all will...............'

Seraph's inner flames exploded as his body started to dissolve when the magic of his ambitious uncle touched the magical bomb. In a flash of white and blood red magic, Seraph sacrifices his life protecting him from entering his uncle's body. Dalamar the dark, kneeling before the might of Raistlin, and the death of Seraph; he too burns into oblivion, forever merged with his beloved and hated _Shalafi_.

The blood burning in his veins woke Raistlin Majere from the void of time in which he was cast. No longer is he in the city of Istar, no longer does Istar remain. Opening his eyes for the first time as an archgod, Raistlin stares in horror at the world. "This can not be," the archgod cried out. "Where is Krynn, where is the world I knew?" The answer comes to his omniscient mind and he drops to his knees, and begins to cry.

Drying his tears and standing tall, the archgod looks out upon the dead world of which he made so. Dead, dust, barren of life, not even the hint of ruins or remains of anything. "The world of Krynn is no more, I realize my error..." Raistlin sighed. "But I have bigger fish to fry, like the gods themselves, then even Chaos."

In an ambitious threat of war, Raistlin Majere the archgod, takes one final look at his old world, a realm of mortals; before fading against the darkness that will forever enshroud the existence of Krynn.

Fire burns within archgod Raistlin's eyes; he beholds the realm of the gods. With one final ambitious smile, his secret smile, he sets off in search of them.

-----What of Astinus you ask? You see, here is a special extra paragraph that will explain what happened to our beloved historian. Enjoy-----

For once Astinus was unable to write, it was beyond his control. He was afraid, watching the death of Seraph and his last attempt to stop his uncle, the death of Dalamar the dark, Raistlin's apprentice. He too realized that this was the end of him. Astinus felt a pain in the pit of his stomach, the fear was gone, and it was death. Jumping to his feet in defiance and acceptance, the magic collapsed upon the historian, but not before his body fell upon the table at which he wrote. The last chronicle remained untouched, the end of Krynn unreadable; only because of a single ink stain.

-----This in fact ends the fic, hoped you enjoyed it. Oh and sorry it took so long to write and post this final chapter, but I do hope it was worth the wait.-----


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